Bad Blood

The others recited the words in unison. “May the ancient ones be served.”

Lord Timotheius nodded toward Grigor. “As we have gathered in your house, it is your right to call upon them.”

Yes, Tatiana thought, because the rest of you are like frightened little rabbits running from the hawk. And well they should be. The Castus did as they pleased. Even if that meant turning on their children.

Lord Grigor whispered something to Svetla. She nodded, then got up and left. The other lords took notice and sent their Elders out also. Cowards. If the Castus wanted a sacrifice, a few walls would not prevent them from taking what they desired.

She moved one of the vacated chairs to the foot of the table opposite Grigor and sat, folding her hands in her lap as one might when awaiting the arrival of a friend for tea. Grigor ignored her. Fool.

He pushed back his chair, the felted feet making little sound on the cold marble tiles, and stood. His fur-trimmed robe fell open, revealing a charming pair of mother-of-pearl daggers on his belt. She would appropriate those as spoils of war when the time came. “It is my honor to call the ancient ones.”

Tatiana smiled at his bravado and settled back to await Samael. She’d not seen him in some time. Her smile faded, and she closed her eyes to send a silent plea that he was not displeased with her efforts.

When she reopened them, Grigor’s arms were outstretched, his palms up. An almost-imperceptible quiver shook his body. “Castus Sanguis, hear your children, come to us and grace us with thy presence.”

The lords around her stiffened. Seconds ticked by. She inhaled, seeking the scents of brimstone and rotting flesh. Nothing but blood and the reek of ancient vampires. Grigor dropped his arms.

“Perhaps call one by name,” Lord Syler offered.

“Yes.” Lord Zephrim nodded.

Lord Grigor frowned. Tatiana bent her head to hide her pleasure. Calling one of the Castus by name would be no one’s first choice. He shook his hands and stretched out his arms again. “Hear us, ancient ones, the purest of blood, the Castus Sanguis, those who made us. We bid you come into our midst.” He stepped back. Did he expect a bolt of lightning?

Once again, moments slipped away and nothing happened. Tatiana’s nerve rose. This could be a test. For her. If she called Samael by name and he came, the lords would have no other option but to accept her as the powerful force she was. They would have to make her Dominus. The power of possibility shivered over her skin.

She stood, shoving her chair back. The lords whipped around to look at her. She bowed her head slightly, reveling in playing the eternal ingénue. Let them think her incapable. So much sweeter would her victory be when she removed each one of these buffoons and built a council that suited her reign. “I will call him, if you wish.”

Lord Timotheius barked a laugh. “You know not what you do.”

She tilted her head, widening her eyes the way an innocent might. “Should I be afraid of our fathers?”

“She wants to call them, let her.” Lord Zephrim waved a hand through the air while the other hand dug something free from beneath his robe. He then swallowed whatever he had procured. No doubt a potion of his own making. Something to protect himself. How desperate did he imagine things would become? “The consequences are hers.”

She lifted her head all the way. “And I accept them.”

“If you fail, they affect us all.” Lord Syler’s eyes told her she best know what she was doing.

“I will not fail.” She could not. She would not.

Lord Grigor sat. “You are a fool.”

“No,” Lord Zephrim countered, turning to the others. “She toys with us. We should not allow this.”

He was afraid of the power she might gain. His fear rolled off him in waves. She decided to push him a little further, to test how far he would go. “I do not undertake such a thing lightly. If—when—I succeed, you will know I am capable of the position of Dominus. Do you not think such a test fair?”

Lord Zephrim hesitated. “And if you fail?”

“Then I will await the council’s decision until such time when one of the ancients can be summoned.”

“And you will abide by our rules for such a decision?”

“Of course.”

He sat back. “Proceed.”

Victory sang in her blood. She opened her arms, palms skyward, and closed her eyes. Her moment was at hand. “Oh great and powerful Samael, your humble child calls upon you.”

She tensed, every cell and sinew on hold until the greatest of the ancients showed himself. She braced for the rumble of thunder, the putrid scent, the…

She opened her eyes. The lords stared back at her through the still empty room.

She swallowed. “Samael, come to us.”

Nothing.

“Samael,” she whispered, fear creeping through her gut.

The room was as still as a mausoleum.

She slammed her fists onto the table, splintering wood beneath the metal one. “Samael!” she bellowed. A bottle of vodka shattered with the force of her voice.

Lord Zephrim picked a shard of glass off his robe. “Tatiana, Elder of the House of Tepes, you are hereby remanded to Corvinestri to await the decision of this council. You may not leave the city until such decision is made.”

“Samhain is in three days. I need to be back in New Florida by then.” She couldn’t afford to miss the chance to catch the comarré during all that chaos.

“The final merging of the mortal and othernatural worlds will present some interesting opportunities wherever one is.” He lifted one shoulder. “If New Florida holds more interest than our decision, I urge you to go. There are others who would gladly accept the mantle of Dominus.” The corners of his mouth tipped upward ever so faintly. “You are dismissed.”